


Morning Rituals

by beetle



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Episode: s04e08 The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:23:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all. Slashy, morning ritual goodness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Rituals

**Author's Note:**

> Notes/Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for TSbBS  
> Disclaimer: Blair belongs to Jim and Jim belongs to Pet Fly.

“One false move, Ellison, and I’ll cut ya a new smile!”  
  
Jim opens his eyes and glares at his Guide’s reflection.  
  
“Damnit, Sandburg, that’s not  _funny_! It will  _never_  be funny!”   
  
Amused blue eyes meet Jim’s in the mirror for a moment and the straight razor stills on his skin. Then Blair’s warm chuckle wraps around Jim like a soothing blanket and his Guide starts shaving again, carefully, as always. “Oh, I beg to differ, big guy. It gets funnier every time I do it.”  
  
“Yeah, and I should arrest you every time do.” Jim’s glare is already lightening to a fond smile at the look of concentration stamped on Blair’s face.   
  
“You wouldn’t.”  
  
Used to be Blair’s thesis-face, but not for some months. Now, it’s his Academy-face.  
  
“But I  _could_. Threatening an officer with bodily harm? Jail-time, Chief.  _Major_  jail-time. Forty, maybe fifty years.”  
  
Blair’s hands are foamy, cool and steady, tilting Jim’s head this way and that. “Mmhm. And who wouldja get to shave you then?”  
  
“Me, perhaps? I've been shaving since you were three years old.” Jim rolls his eyes.  
  
Blair swipes foam off Jim’s face with a warm, damp towel. “There. You’re done,” he says finally, leaning down lightly brush his stubbly cheek with Jim’s smooth one. “You’re gorgeous.”  
  
“You’d say anything to get your hands on me.” Blair-scent and Blair-feel: some of the high points of Jim's day.  
  
“This is true,” Blair agrees as Jim stands up and pulls him close for a quick kiss: Blair-taste. “But you feel the same way.”  
  
“This is also true.” Jim grins, takes the razor out of Blair’s hands and turns him to face the mirror. “Your turn, hairboy.”  
  
“Now that I’m officially hair _less-_ boy, man, calling me hairboy is pretty insensitive.” Pouty lips and sad-puppy eyes. The double whammy. But Jim’s had his shower, just gotten a shave and as far as he’s concerned, he’s invincible. He sits his Guide down on the stool in front of the mirror.  
  
“What, now you don’t like the buzz-cut look anymore, Chief?” Jim knows he can’t pull off pouts of any kind - wouldn’t try, even if he knew he could - so he settles for running a hand over his own buzz-cut.  
  
“On  _you_ , the buzz-cut’s sexy. Me? I just look like some dweeb.” Blair turns his head to varying, strange angles, apparently trying to see the back of his own head. Jim rolls his eyes and grabs the shaving cream. “Or a skinhead. I kinda look like a skinhead, don’t I?”  
  
“A  _sexy_  skinhead.” Jim’s reflection is trying not to grin as he sprays foam into his hand.  
  
“ _Jim_!”   
  
“No, Blair, you  _don’t_  look like a skinhead. You  _have_  hair, just - not a lot of it. But you’ve got at least half an inch.”  
  
“Wow, half an inch?! With that kinda hair, I coulda been in Motley Crue!”   
  
“Smartass.”  
  
“You love my ass.”  
  
“I love  _you_.” Jim leans down and kisses Blair’s forehead.  
  
Blair tilts his head back, his eyes never leaving Jim’s in the mirror. When he smiles, it’s sleepy, trusting and turns into a big yawn at the end.   
  
“Love you, too.” Blair’s scent is changing from sleepy-amused to sleepy-aroused. Making a conscious effort not to zone-out on his Guide’s pheromones, Jim spreads the foam over the lower half of Blair’s face and throat. Before he starts shaving, he leans down to bury his face in the crook of Blair’s neck.  
  
“Don’t shower this morning.”   
  
“Jim, man, don’t start that  _again_  -”   
  
“You smell  _so_  good like this, Chief. You have no idea.”   
  
Jim straightens up and meets Blair’s eyes in the mirror for a moment. Blair’s looks exasperated, but there are now more pheromones in the air than there are air molecules.   
  
Jim's glad they don’t have to be at the station for another forty-eight minutes.  
  
“Yeah. I probably  _smell_  like we had sex last night.” Blair’s head tips back again and his eyes close. A tiny smile curves any residual pout right off the sensual mouth.   
  
“Like I said, Chief,  _good_. . . .”  
  
Jim dials down scent about halfway - just in case - and puts the razor to Blair’s throat, scraping it slowly upward.


End file.
